Another Mother's Son
by LovinFace
Summary: During the tag of Pariah, Starsky mentions that he went to see Lonnie Craig's mother to see how she was doing. This snippet is my take on what might have happened.


Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just borrow them.

Another Mother's Son

By LovinFace

My first thought was_, That man has a lot of nerve coming to my house. _

He stood there in faded jeans, a windbreaker, and tennis shoes, at my house. Detective David Starsky. This man. The same man who killed my Lonnie. My baby.

Then I saw his eyes. Haunted, sad, guilt-ridden. But more than that. Determined. I walked out on the porch. He proceeded to tell me he was sorry about what happened. Then he produced a picture of a young man named Tremaine and asked for help in finding this man, so that he could make sure what happened to Lonnie didn't happen to the "next Lonnie." Another mother's son.

I told him that I knew what Lonnie had become. That was true, and it hurt me to say it out loud. I took the picture from him. My nephew mentioned a few places Tremaine hung out. The detective took notes and then shook hands. He left then and walked to his car where I saw his partner waiting for him.

I went back inside my crowded house, feeling completely alone.

XXXXXXXX

Two weeks later, the Torino was parked in front of my house. The curly haired detective once again made his way to the front porch. He knocked on the front door.

I opened the door warily, wondering why this man would be at my home. His partner, Detective Hutchinson I believe, had called shortly after Detective Starsky's first visit and told me that Tremaine had been arrested.

"Detective Starsky, what can I do for you?" I asked politely.

He looked down at his feet then back up to me. "I just thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing. See if there's anything I could do for you."

"I think you've done enough." The words came out harsh, but I didn't care.

His eyes locked onto mine then and the guilt and grief that I had seen there two weeks ago was still there, accompanied by dark circles under his eyes and a weariness etched across his face. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. This man was obviously looking for absolution, but I didn't think I should be the one to give it to him. After all, I was the one whose child was dead. Even though I knew this detective had done the only thing he could have, the fact remained that he had killed my baby.

Still, something about this man standing on my porch made me want to comfort him. I didn't understand it, and I still don't. But for some reason, I decided to invite him in.

"I'm sorry, Detective. I shouldn't have said that." _Was that me? Did I just apologize?_

He shook his head slightly. "No, that's okay. You don't have anything to apologize for. Look, I guess I should be going. Sorry if I bothered you." He turned to leave.

I found myself again wanting to comfort him. Here I thought I was the victim, but maybe he was too. I'd heard about two policemen being killed by an insane man and wondered if this detective was somehow involved.

"Detective Starsky, won't you come inside?" _What am I doing?_

I opened the screen door and invited him in. I motioned for him to go into the living room. He walked by my old upright piano, still covered with pictures of Lonnie taken at different stages of his short life. He paused and picked up the picture of Lonnie at the age of seven, one tooth missing and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He sat it back down on the piano. I saw the same haunted look from a couple of weeks ago cross his face.

"Detective Starsky, I know that you still feel badly for what happened to Lonnie." I heard myself say. Funny, I didn't even remember thinking it.

He turned to face me. "I do, Mrs. Craig, I really do. Not only Lonnie, but two policemen who were killed because of me and what I did to….and what happened." He looked at the floor.

Oh, so that was it. He was carrying the guilt not only of my son's death, but the death of two police officers as well. I can tell he hasn't been sleeping, and I bet he hasn't been eating much either.

I reached out then and took his face in my hands. This man. Another mother's son.

"Detective, you have circles under your eyes and I know you haven't been sleeping. I didn't realize the policemen that died recently were connected to you and Lonnie, but now that I do, I know _why_ you haven't been sleeping. You're blaming yourself. You're taking responsibility for the actions of a mad man and of a misguided child…my child."

He tried to turn away from me then, but I wouldn't let go. Not until I said what I needed to say.

"Detective Starsky, I don't know what I can say to help you see that none of this was your fault. Just know this – I don't blame you for what happened to Lonnie. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he made the choice to do it anyway."

I inhaled sharply then, trying not to cry, knowing that I had spoken the truth, knowing that though it hurt like hell to admit, it also felt good to acknowledge the truth.

"But Mrs. Craig, I—" I put my finger to his lips. I used to do that whenever Lonnie would argue with me. I wondered if his mother did it to him as well.

"Shhh. I understand that you still feel responsible."

He looked at me, seemingly through me. "Yes ma'am. I do. I am."

"Then I forgive you."

There. I said it. I meant it. And it felt good.

I continued. "Now you have to forgive yourself."

I released his face then. He stood there, silent. I don't think he knew what to say.

"Detective Starsky, I was just about to fix myself some lunch. Care to join me?"

He started to shake his head no.

"Actually, you don't have the option." I pulled at his arm and he followed me to the kitchen. I pointed to the table and he sat down, not saying a word. I imagined him as a scolded child, sitting at table, not daring to talk back to his own mother.

I threw together a couple of sandwiches and some drinks, and then joined him at the table.

He took a sip of his drink and smiled a genuine smile. "Hey, this is terrific!"

"It's a banana daiquiri. I have one every day. I can give you the recipe if you want…but only if you eat your sandwich."

He took a bite of his sandwich and then finished the whole thing rather quickly. I don't think he realized how hungry he had been. I wrote out the recipe and handed it to him. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

He stayed for a while longer. We talked about Lonnie some. He told me about his partner "Hutch" and how he had been tricked into drinking a shake with desiccated liver. He even told me that I reminded him of his mother back in New York. Then he wrote down his phone number and told me to call if I ever needed anything. And he meant it.

He left then. I watched from the porch as he walked to his car. He gave me a brief wave as he pulled away from the curb. This man. Another mother's son.

I closed the door and walked to the piano. I picked up a picture of Lonnie when he was three and held it to my chest. And I cried for this mother's son.


End file.
